SAS Operatives: Destination: Unknown
by CosmicAutistic
Summary: Reznov and his trusty Boeing 747-8 fitted with Trent 900 were flying at FL 330, when a short circuit occured, and they fell into obsecurity. Everyone was searching, not correctly and fruitlessly, but Reznov must find a way out. Can he make it out alive?
1. Mayday!

**Do not be alarmed, most of this is fiction. P.S. Sorry for not updating. Your next chapter will come with speed. Chapter 2: Encounter!**

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"Heathrow Airport, we are cruising at FL 330, over sea level. Request clearance to flight path."

"Red Arrow, you have clearance. Proceed to flight path and decrease altitude to FL 150 for landing. You are approximately two-fifty miles from Heathrow."

"Affirmitive."

The plane set the Autopilot to their course and flew the plane, watching the scenery.

The plane was flying through the sky, a Generic Boeing 747-800, modified by Skymaster Industries, founded by a particular person. The quadruple Rolls-Royce Trent 900 engines roared the night. Skies were silent and nothing out of the blue happened.

SkyMaster Industries was a small industry that produced planes. Over time, the designs grew more and more complex, paving way to some UHCA operations (**U**ltra-**H**igh **C**apacity **A**ircraft). Among them all was the SkyMaster S400, the critically-criticized UHCA, a joint project between SkyMaster and Airbus Industrie. It had become a huge success, and was one of the famous transports due to its combined form. Its cockpit was on the second floor, like the Boeing 747, but it was a double-deck from nose to tail, like the Airbus A380. Its five engines keep it well in the air, and can even land on water. Two relief engines that produce an extra 50 kN of thrust each lay on the second floor. It had 3 types of engines: Rolls-Royce, Pratt &amp; Whitney, and CFM engines. All this was the goal of a young 15-year-old at the back of the founder's desk. The SkyMaster Industry also modified planes to be better than before. Somehow, some people rumoured this fifteen year old was a prodigy, but was never known.

However, this plane wasn't up to the pilot's standard.

The four Trent engines roared hard, burning fuel and thrusting the plane forward. And suddenly, as quick as nothing, the four engines surged, and billows of flames came from the back of the engines. "Losing thrust!" The captain pulled a red lever beside the thrust indicators: 'Artificial Oxygen Input'. Soon, the thrust count came back to 70%, their original count. "Bad day, isn't it, Captain?"

"Yeah, sure it is. Rain clouds coming during approach, luckily only few people on board. I want this thing down and I want to sleep."

The Boeing continued roaring through the night, and nothing out of the ordinary appeared. Then, another adversity. "Captain, all four engines losing thrust! All four engines surging! 50%, 45%..."

The captain pulled the lever harder, but nothing happened. He pushed the thrust levers all the way forward, and forced the lever down, but it was futile. The plane lost thrust from engines, and suddenly all the cockpit lights lighted up. Their electronic computer stated one word. "TEST." One engines then lost all power and exploded into flames. Its parts raining down below, as 'rain' of some sort. "DARN!" All the planes' instruments are not responding. The thrust indicators? All were pointing at 999, meaning '999%', yet the digital indicator stated '888%'. "What the hell is this?" The Captain's artificial horizon is the only instrument working in the cockpit, other than the map and radio. The Boeing was falling at five thousand feet per minute. He calculated he would have only six minutes to get everything right. "Damnit, the control isn't working!" Only one sound came through the cockpit: "TEST. TEST. TEST" This sound repeated every five seconds. The Captain pulled the sound lever, removing all sound. The aircraft was deadly silent. "Pan pan! Pan pan! Pan pan!" The ATC received the call, and replied, "Received Pan call, relay problem, N91407G".

"All four engines failure, cockpit error! All our instruments are lighted. Nothing is responding!" The Captain pulled his controls. The plane continued aiming down. As suddenly as it has appeared, all the machines came back correctly. The cabin lights, however, turned off. "Pull up! Pull up!" The plane's controls continued this relay. All hydraulics were now on. However, they have reached more than 400 knots, almost difficult to recover from their steep aim-down. The Captain pulled the controls all the way up, and now their plane shows signs of recovery. The elevators are now responding well and the aircraft's vertical speed turned from negative to positive. Their speed allows them to climb some height, and they reached FL 200. The incident was 2 or so minutes long. As the aircraft pulled up, the speed slowed, reaching 300 knots. Bad, the Captain thought. "Engines?"

"All engines flame-out. Engine 2 explosion. Need oxygen input!" the Engineer checked his controls, and had a shocking surprise. The oxygen reserve had depleted itself. When the Captain attempted to keep the engines alive, he pulled the oxygen reserve's release lever too hard. All the oxygen was wasted. "Re-ignite engines by windmill restart." The engines were already slowly spinning. Thus what they needed was to restart all the engines, except for the fault engine. The Engineer clicked on some levers and buttons. The electronic screen shows that the three remaining engine's thrust indicators started from 888% and snapped to 0%: no ignition. "Not working!" The Engineer went ahead and restarted the engines again. This time, only the outer left engine (1) started and reached 500%. Then, the outer right engine started, reaching 500% as well. Engine 3 had trouble. The Engineer then pushed the thrust lever to "high". The indicators reached 850%. This allowed the aircraft to climb. "Vertical speed: 750 feet per minute." The Captain eased the controls, and heaved a sigh of relief. While trying to figure out the problem of why the controls crazed itself, it came again. Now, all the controls were lighted and the electronic board was a blue screen. That was that. The First Officer was the first to react: his artificial horizon was jumbled. It moved left, then right, then up and down. His Captain saw the same problem in his instruments as well. He resorted to something else: he took some of his bottled water and poured it into a plastic bag, to see his angle of attack, since in darkness he had spatial disorientation. but the bottle gave the Captain the answer. The bottled water was 'defying' gravitational force and was pointing to one side of his bottle. The 'away' side. To him it is...

The Captain took his controls and pulled all the way. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!" The First Officer called. ATC heard them and said, "N91407G, relay problem!"

The Captain took the mike. "We are going _straight_ **DOWN**! I think our vertical speed reached 10-k feet per minute! Help!" The Engineer called, "The elevators are pointed straight up! Switch off the engines!" This went for forty seconds: that means they have gained loads of speed. The Captain then saw his bottle again. The water was floating. "Oh no!" He grasped the controls and forced it to him with all his might. The plane started to level slowly. By then it was too late. The Captain saw the water below him and saw land in front of him. He gave one, last, final, all-strength, heroic, mighty pull and had the angle of attack reaching 0 degrees. And all of a sudden the elevators 'errored' itself again. The angle of attack rose sharply to about 60 degrees. A final alarm sounded: "STALL."

"We're gonna hit!"

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**SAS Operatives: Destination Unknown [aka Deadly Landing] (One-word Chapters series)  
Main Person: Viktor Reznov  
Chapter One: Mayday!**

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Piles of rubble piled on the ground, rubble from a Boeing-SkyMaster 747, a Generic flight, privately owned, registration N91407G, the daylight shining on it. It was a beautiful May day, Wingulls chirping in the air, seems to signify a beautiful, new day. Reznov woke up from his tired sleep, finding out a plane wreck beside him. He figured out how to control his senses, and moved his head round. A red liquid dripped from his forehead. He touched it and found out it was blood. Instead of screaming in pain, he did not react. He had been shot in the ribs, so what difference would a head-bleed make? He looked to his right, and came face to face with a scraped, dented engine. He slowly recognized it. A Rolls-Royce Trent engine. The Trent... 900...? Wait, isn't that... the N91407G? His... plane...?

That was now. The crash was 6 hours ago.

Now, Reznov, the (still) 50 year-old man, sat stock still on the sand, looking at the wreck. Some decapitated bodies decorated the dreadful scene, with red blood colouring the dilapidated what was once supposed to be a plane painted in pink. Think, Reznov, think! Reznov thought, but what came up in his mind was a blank, and had no other choice but to get nearer to the burning collapse. He piled his hands on the sand, and, with some of his strength, slowly stood up, trying to control his footing, or he will end up on the floor with his mouth full of sand. He stood on one leg; the other was lame. He staggered towards the rubble, trying to recognize what had happened what was like a gap in the mind. He stumbled on a body, his head nearly touching the ground, his nose not more than a centimetre higher than the floor. He found...

"Marusya!"

It was a girl he was looking at.

"Marusya!"

The girl's full name is Spravtseva Marina (Marusya) Pavlovna. A flight attendant. This meant one more thing. She was located at the front of the fuselage before the crash, strapped to her seat well. Reznov calculated, and found out one only possible explanation: he was the only survivor.

Reznov looked at the lifeless body. Her eyes were rolled to the back: a gruesome sight, and looked as if she was a zombie. Her hand was ransomed from her from the wreckage. Nearby, he saw a hand. It had been incapacitated, stuck under the Trent engine. A flow of dry blood gushed from Marusya's hole. Reznov weeped, putting his hands on his head. Reznov suddenly remembered, they were on a plane, a Boeing. He thought, That captain! He really loves to be a daredevil, flying like an acrobat for no reason! Scratch that-What he has to do, was to find out the 'gap' in his mind, and escape. He saw an AR-7 survival rifle, and picked it up, and popped some spares into his pouch. However, something he said was wrong: it wasn't the pilot's fault: it was some wiring repair error. It mixed controls with different voltages, and that was what happened.

He bode the wreck farewell, saddened and thought, "At least give me someone to accompany myself," and slowly staggered into the dense forest overlooking them. He waded deep into the forest, dodging branches and ground roots. It gave him much trouble.

He settled on the wet soil, and whispered, "I should have been a pilot, least I don't crash." He took out a pill, silvery-black, and swallowed it, and flushed it down his throat with a canteen of water. He pushed himself up again, and rushed deeper into the jungle. He ran faster and faster, however his perception and memory has not awakened: he could not remember much. Only when he stopped to catch his breath in a small clearing, he saw: a ran-down house, made out of stone. It looks like an area where a Mythical would live. Reznov looked around. No one was there, except him. He saw his Kelvar vest, full of ammo and pokeballs, and made a decision. He bravely entered the 'house'.

Once again, he hoisted himself up, nearly losing his balance as his position of center-of-gravity changed when he was getting up. He rushed into the house.

There was enough space to cover them from rain and shine, enough room to sleep, and enough room for supplies. He checked his Kelvar. To his surprise, he got less than he needed: 24 total rounds (8 rounds multiplied by 3 clips). This obviously is not sufficient as he needed more to hunt an animal down successfully.

"Great. Now I have 24 bullets in my pocket," Reznov cursed.

He ran in, and saw a creature, shiny-pink, beautiful with horns. His reaction was slow: he pushed his rifle up, bearing his hand to stabilize and fired a round quickly. He dropped his rifle, hoping to get a shot. Without him knowing his eyes still has not woken up; he shot the tree behind the creature. She heard it, and jumped off into the wilderness. Reznov cursed again. He retreated to the hut, and sat down on the floor of the hut, weeping on his loss. First his 'wife', the his Kelvar vest, and finally bad aiming?! "What in the World is this!" Reznov angrily screamed. Silence. Then, another rustle. An animal, he did the same thing. Another miss. Many more rustles and it was torture to miss continuously. He burnt through a clip of rounds, and what was left was the shame. 8 rounds, 8 misses. The number 8 came out with something:

He saw the cabin lights blacken out. He called for the Captain, and asked what in the world was wrong. Marusya did not reply; rather she ignored him. Serves her right! Her face of ignorance filled Reznov with deathly-palish fury and anger. His fear had broken loose and formed lethal anger, breaking him farther than his limit.

"**To hell with it!**" he angrily threw the AR-7 on the floor. It shot his left hand, nearly decapitating it, while blood poured out. He laid there, waiting for his death. The blood continued to pour, a magical flow of heavy death. It was like drinking a cocktail with a poisonous twist. The bullet pierced his arm so hard, it felt like the arteries in him burst through his tough skin, rupturing the nerve system, making him unable to feel the pain. He then cried: no food, no water, no body, no medicine, limited ammunition, one house. It was useless, it was like living in Sparta, however much more like living in the Nether and the Nether realm combined. The ammunition was his only companion, and the house his grave.

Then it happened. The earlier request was _granted_.

The creature Reznov missed many times saw the latter throwing the rifle on the floor, a burst of flames from the barrel and burning through his arms. A lot of blood came down. This creature isn't like any other: she was a Pokemon, and her intelligence told her an earlier sound in the air at daybreak and this tattered and torn survivor was from the burning wreckage what was once the N91407G. She decided some empathy would have aided him. She got away from her spot and quietly and precisely leaped gracefully in front of him. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than Juliet dressed to the nines. She was beautifully pink and majestical. She was a Legendary, not a Mythical, and her features stand out from any other Pokemon or Trainer.

"You come from the plane. What is your name? I'm here to aid." the creature asked, her eyes surveying his. He did not make any eye contact with her, both hostile because he thought this Pokemon is a human-eater and talks like a gangster and secondly, he was ashamed to have shot the creature if the creature was her. But in any circumstance, he is always hostile. However, the creature, this Pokemon, her voice was sweet and tender, like a loving mother of some sort.

"My name... my name is... Viktor Reznov."

The creature digested the information slowly. He was staggering in his speech: a tell-tale sign he was fatigued.

"How do you do? I'm Virizion," the creature replied.


	2. Encounter (UC)

**SAS Operatives: Destination Unknown [aka Deadly Landing] (One-word Chapters series)  
Main Person: Viktor Reznov  
Chapter Two: Encounter.**

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Virizion sat beside Reznov quietly, talking about what had happened earlier on. Reznov was fatigued, but the sight of the Legendary awoke him. He had wanted a companion; he got one, and he was grateful enough. He inquired Virizion: to him she was the smartest on land. It was surreal: a plane crash brought him to a land no human had ever stepped foot in. He was the accidental first. Virizion saw a burning plane falling into the sea, then it levelled, and suddenly came in tail-first, destroying the plane completely. This information was processed by Reznov and he said, "No wonder the plane crashed."

It was a silent night - the crash was now past. Pokemon were asleep and resting. An occasional Pikachu raced across the tall grass in search for a midnight snack. The starry night shows no sign of visible cloud: just moonlight and star-light. The night was pretty. It was well and dark and Reznov had to pull out his light to illuminate the dark room. Virizion had been smarter and more resourceful. She took a lamp and hung it on top of the ran-down building. She had mentioned the building was hers to stay. Thus, all this time from hours earlier on was to talk about business - of what happened to the plane and who is who. After Reznov saw Virizion and met her, he was too fatigued to the point he fell on the floor and started to snore away. When he woke up again, Virizion was sleeping beside him too. Maybe she had the same problem. Now they were talking about the plane.

"It's a Boeing. It always crashes. The Boeing 737 constantly crashes by some error." Virizion quipped, her intelligence surpassing the human beside him.

"Not a good plane like the SkyMaster-Boeing right? It was a new 747-800 - not more than a thousand flying hours right?" Reznov was puzzled - a good plane that flew for only a thousand so hours crashed into a small island that no one knew where it was? This was like sabotage. Though it isn't. (A.N. The answer will be revealed in the next few chapters...)

"Firstly, I'm sure you are hungry, Rez. Surely you need food?" Virizion asked politely, and Reznov quietly replied that he really needed food. "But a human eats different. Maybe I should go back to the crash site to find food." There was a crate of food Reznov finally remembered. So he wasn't without food after all! "I'll go and get the box." Reznov picked himself up, his injured arm cleared by Virizion's Heal. The hole was now covered with a bandage made of leaves. Virizion got up as well, and knelt down, "Get on. I know the crash site and this location well." In just a few minutes, Virizion was jumping here and there, dodging trees in a fast speed run to the beach that contained the crash of a new 747-800. Virizion then came to a stop and said to Reznov, "We've reached." Reznov surveyed the site. The fire was out, and nothing burning was left. He got off Virizion's back, and strolled to the site. It was a mess. The same Trent engine he had met before was still sitting there, and he can get a good view. Virizion ran around the plane, surveying the big and wonderful, majestic, yet ruined plane. Reznov saw Marusya's body again.

He saw a crate on the floor. The first in many. He picked up the crate, and found it to his delight it read, 'Survival Kit - 2 sets'. "Wonderful! I found a good crate! This should suffice." Virizion travelled into the fuselage of the plane, and saw many things scattered and destroyed. "Rez! Come here!" Reznov rushed to Virizion, and saw a shocking sight: the ground was messed with blood and it trailed out of the plane. It landed near Marusya. There was a pool of blood - fresh. Just a small trickle. "Virizion, you know how to repair her, yes?" Virizion nodded, and ran over to the body. Reznov rushed to the front of the plane and forced open the door to the cockpit. It was an astonishing sight. The faces of the Captain, First Officer and Engineer were contorted, and an odd noise sounded the cockpit. He pulled the Engineer off his instruments, and heard a continuous monotone sound of something like, "STALL. STALL." Reznov sighed. These people couldn't make it. He saw the Captain's eyes and gave him a big fright. It was open wide and bloodshot. He hastily closed it. He exited the cockpit with the box. Somehow, he thought, at least something here may come in handy to him. He then walked to Virizion. "You can hold this lot?"

The answer was clear. In no time, Reznov was back to where he set off from the clearing. He was spellbound. "Thanks Virizion. Without you, I wouldn't be here."

Reznov settled down, with the female body right beside him. Two sets were good enough for him and a stewardess. He pried open the box with a knife - he had a knife handy on his Kelvar. The box opened: it was a green box with nails pasted at the side to keep it tightly sealed. It was camouflaged like an army camouflage. Now that they are pried open, he then turned a knob and the numbers and alphabets formed a code the pilot once told him, "Always align the box's nine LCDs to your name. The box will unlock." He turned the knob to form 'R, E, Z, N, O, V'. The lid opened and he peeked inside. He fingered around: there was a box, a first aid kit, a rugged box and something like a bow. A _bow_?

He pulled out the things inside. The kit contained a first aid kit, and the rugged box was food and cooking equipment. He checked thoroughly - the rugged box was white, polished and shiny, and stated: 'Food supplies'. The lid was tightly sealed and tightly locked. It had a numerical combination. Reznov read the instructions. "When you meet this box, say out your desired passcode **once**. Remember to state 'Lockbox' before saying numerical code." He then started, "Lockbox. 723745."

The box unlocked. Inside was clean: it was separated into some sections. The top left contained the cooking materials, the middle contained the foodstuffs, mainly biscuits, tea, rice, meat and et cetera. Bottom right was where the fuel was held. It was in the form of solid fuel. His rations. The first aid kit contained some first aid items. And finally, the revelation: he peeked his head into the box, and came face-to-face with a shiny, polished metal of what belongs to a bow and quiver. "Okay, I don't get it. Nick decided to give me a bow?"

"Look out!" From behind leapt a hog enormous sized. Virizion attempted to tackle it but she was flicked aside with maximum ease. This gave time for Reznov to do something heroic. **(Eat-a-reactix)**

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The hog quickly jumped onto Virizion, its face a contorted expression of fury, and drove its tusks into Virizion. Virizion screamed in pain and agony, feeling the pain of how it is to be pierced by a big tusk. The tusks were enormously huge. Reznov had time to react, and used it to his advantage quick: he jumped to the box, and pulled out the bow, the grip falling neatly on his hand. He felt the tension of the string, but had no time to admire it. He hastened and pulled out a green arrow. It shined with a curious light, and Reznov placed the arrow on the arrow rest. The bow came with a sight, and Reznov aimed down, aligning the dot with the hog's eyes. He aimed and pulled the string back, while the tusk punctured nearer into Virizion's inner body. Her body was leaking with blood, like a slow poison, but with blood being expelled slowly and forming a puddle beside her. If he did not hurry she would die and Reznov would regret well. Once more he aimed the dot on the eye, but switched it to the heart of the boar instead. He released the string, the straight, horizontal arrow accelerating past the bow. The feather at the back of the green mystical arrow tickled Reznov, but he felt the cooling wind of the arrow moving past him. The arrow left the bow's embrace, and zoomed straight to the middle of the beast. It gave a shriek as the head of the arrow went straight into the flesh and stayed there. The remaining speed forced the head inward and some of the horizontal stick into the body. The boar shouted and limped away in fear, but falling to the ground and dying even before its daring escape.

* * *

Virizion was quiet. She lay on the ground, feeling limp. Immediately Reznov reached for the kit. He pulled out some bandaging tape, and plastered it over the wound.


End file.
